


Oh Little Rival Of Mine

by Clarybell90



Category: Original Work
Genre: (Not in the good way), A lot of orc culture, Abusive Relationships, Alien Culture, But I'm not ashamed, DnD Feel, Fear, Fighting, I'm Going to Hell, I'm so sorry to whoever reads this, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insanity, Interfering With Tradtion, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsessive Behavior, Orc Culture, Orcs, Orcs aren't the nicest race, Overall I'm not nice to my boy Sharrah, Possessive Behavior, Prisoner of War, Rivalry, Rivals, Torture, Traditions, Tribal Wars, competitions, no happy ending, ropes, tribes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarybell90/pseuds/Clarybell90
Summary: A hand grabs into Sharrah's hair, jerking his head upwards to make eye contact with Rahhk. Ears ringing, Sharrah can barely register the words coming out of Rahhk's mouth."We can end this early, you know. Just admit that you're a nobody that barely deserves to be an orc. Say it." Rahhk punctuates his words with a particularly hard yank.Hissing lightly in pain, Sharrah says, "Only if you admit you're a coward that can't even beat someone up without them being held down first."





	1. Chapter 1

Tradition was always important to orcs. Yes, the traditions might be bloody and barbaric to any other race, but they're the life and blood of their tribal systems. Thus, despite the differences between clans, they can all interact without treading too hard on each others toes. There are and always be rules that even the most bloodthirsty of tribes will follow.

Despite knowing this, nerves make Sharrah stay awake all night. Even at the tender age of ten Sharrah knows what the next day means for his entire clan. Tomorrow all the tribes would come together and proclaim their children. There the men would claim their children, finally revealing which orc had fathered the baby. This also means unclaimed children would be shunned by their clan, either to be left to fend for themselves or be taken in by another tribe.

The Broken-Axes couldn't afford to let a healthy child remain unclaimed, but that doesn't stop Sharrah from worrying. What if his father had been killed over the harsh winter? What if his father didn't want to take over the duties of raising him? What if....

"Sharrah. Rest," his mother orders from across the tent. The child hadn't even realized his mother had known he was awake still, and Sharrah blushes even in the dark. Still, obediently he rolls over and closes his eyes.

That doesn't stop the what ifs from milling through his head all night and into the morning. Yet at least Sharrah isn't the only one that didn't get any sleep. The few other children of claiming age also seem haggard when they all rise. More subdued, and hovering close to their mothers. Seems everyone gets the same worries the night before claiming. Sharrah takes what comfort he can in that fact.

Eventually though, they reach the agreed upon spot for the meetings this year. The children are herded away, all gathered in one spot. The last time any of them will mingle regularly with another clan. Some friends were saying goodbye to each other, accepting that their loyalties will not allow them to be close anymore. Others are already picking fights.

Sadly, Sharrah is dragged into the former category. A very familiar face comes into view right as hands grab onto Sharrah from behind. He never even realized his own clan mates had drifted away until it was too late. Two much larger boys haul Sharrah halfway off his feet, twisting his arms painfully behind his back. Their leader, Rahhk, grins from his spot in front of Sharrah.

Rahhk's clan, the Shattered-Skulls, always seemed to toe the lines of tradition, and Rahhk was the prime example. While his father had not yet claimed the boy, everyone knows Rahhk is next in line for Chieftain. A fact that left many of the larger clan to follow his lead already. And Sharrah was always his favorite target.

Mustering up his best scowl, Sharrah tries to fight free as Rahhk approaches. Yet, being smaller and weaker than one of the boys holding him captive, never mind two of them, Sharrah ends up squirming more like a fish on a hook. Rahhk laughs at his weak attempts.

"How are you Sharrah? Still small and helpless, like your tribe?" Rahhk teases, grabbing onto the longer ends of Sharrah's hair and tugging. The smaller boy takes that opportunity to kick, hard. Despite putting nearly all his force into it, Sharrah barely manages to budge Rahhk. Yet the noise of pain that escapes Rahhk's lips is what he was after. Sharrah grins, despite still being held tight by Rahhk's lackeys.

"I'm doing good," he says, attempting his best shrug despite the hold he's trapped in, "Are you still hiding behind numbers instead of facing enemies alone like a real orc?"

If look's could kill, Rahhk would have flayed Sharrah into pieces by now. The early morning light sends harsh shadows down the sides of Rahhk's face, mixing with his grey tinted skin, and making his expression even darker. The sight of it sends the slightest slivers of dread down Sharrah's spine, even as he continues to smile.

Rahhk grabs onto Sharrah's chin, fingers tightening to a bruising level. Sharrah fights back a wince and meets Rahhk's gaze, glare for glare. Rahhk's hand slips down to Sharrah's throat, squeezing just enough to restrict his airway. Sharrah tries to kick again, but Rahhk moves out of the way, expecting the resistance at this point.

"I think the little nobody needs another lesson," Rahhk says. The two holding onto Sharrah's arms tighten their grips, making sure the smaller boy can't possibly get away.

Despite trying to brace himself, stars still break through Sharrah's vision as the first blow lands on the side of his head. Before he can even register the pain of the first hit though, a fist slams into his gut. Doubling over best he can in the hold, Sharrah tries to suck a breath in through his mouth.

A hand grabs into Sharrah's hair, jerking his head upwards to make eye contact with Rahhk. Ears ringing, Sharrah can barely register the words coming out of Rahhk's mouth.

"We can end this early, you know. Just admit that you're a nobody that barely deserves to be an orc. Say it." Rahhk punctuates his words with a particularly hard yank.

Hissing lightly in pain, Sharrah says, "Only if you admit you're a coward that can't even beat someone up without them being held down first."

This time Sharrah doesn't even have time to brace himself as a fist connects with his nose. There's a sickening crack, and Sharrah's vision goes black for the barest of moments. Fire rushes across his whole face, even as more punches rain down on his body. Sharrah focusing on not screaming. A real orc doesn't scream. A real orc doesn't-

Sharrah doesn't notice it's over until he's dropped roughly onto the ground. The children are gathering with their other young clansmen, and Sharrah's own tribe gathers around him. The claiming ceremony has started.

As always, the chiefs go first, largest clan to smallest clan. Not expecting to be called on any time soon, Sharrah just sits up and nurses his wounds. One of his hands finds a particularly bad ache on his side, while the other drifts up to his broken nose. It's already swollen, and blood is oozing out of it.

Taking a deep breath, Sharrah grabs onto his abused nose and jerks it back into relative place. Blood roars in Sharrah's ears the instant he does, but he can also just make out the small noise his bones make as they grind against each other while realigning. None of his other tribesman bother to help, but a few wince in sympathy. They're all used to Rahhk beating up Sharrah by now, and this isn't the first time the bigger boy had broken bones. Every year the same thing happens, and every year they leave Sharrah to deal with the results of his smart mouth.

Sharrah is barely paying attention by the time his own chieftain, Umong, steps forward. A few of the other children still in anticipation, but Sharrah doesn't expect to be called up. He's too small and weak to be the son of a chief.

Yet his name is the one called. Sharrah's head jerks up, and he looks to the voice that said it. There Umong stands, expectantly. Waiting.

Everyone watching him, Sharrah forces himself to his feet earlier than he anticipated. His entire body aches in protest, but Sharrah forces himself not to wince. Not to limp.

Sharrah is sure he's a sight to see, standing before his chief, face bloody and body bruised. But then Umong's previously impassive look breaks into a grin. His large hand comes down on Sharrah's head, ruffling his already mussed hair.

"I claim Sharrah, the boy who always gets back up again after a beating. Only my child could take so many hits without crying," He boasts, loudly. A few of the other clans, the Broken-Axes' allies, laugh a bit, congratulating Umong on having a strong son.

Others remain silent though. Either judgmental or angry. Yet as Sharrah is being herded away by his father, Sharrah dares a glance back to where the Shattered-Skull's chief stands. Rahhk is by his father's side, obviously seething in silent fury.

Sharrah grins at him, the blood from his broken nose making for quite a gruesome display as Sharrah shows off his pleasure. It's a challenge, because suddenly the nobody isn't a nobody anymore. Sharrah is a chieftain's son, and that makes him and Rahhk the same rank.

* * *

Sharrah watches as the long strands of brown hair fall around him and onto the floor. At the age of twelve Sharrah was finally ready to cut his hair properly. The long strands had been getting in the way during training, and he is no longer expected to let his hair grow like all children are. No. He's finally old enough to be considered an adolescent.

Of course, most orcs either cut their own hair or went to one of their instructors for help. Most don't go to their mother. But Sharrah went to his mother. He didn't want his hair to look sloppy and stupid, or be completely shaved off like most of the other kids his age.

Nigee, his mother, of course wasn't supposed to show any favoritism towards her son now that his father had taken over raising him. But it couldn't be called favoritism if the offer is open to all the younger orcs as well. It just so happens that Sharrah was the one that asked first. If it leads to mother and son having some alone time, then that was just an extra benefit.

Sharrah holds extra still as Nigee gets out the razor, trusting her to make him look presentable. The hair tickles at his neck as the shorter hairs get shaved away. The tent looks almost the same as it did the day Sharrah was claimed, except the small pallet where Sharrah used to sleep is gone. He could always visit, but he can't stay any longer. Umong is Sharrah's guardian now.

That of course doesn't stop Sharrah from missing Nigee.

"Mother."

"Hush, boy. You're not a child, call me by my name."

"Nigee, my mother."

Huffing slightly, Nigee finishes up one spot and twists her son's head to the side to work on a new area. Sharrah can feel the amusement coming off of her though. She always said Sharrah was too cheeky for his own good.

"Yes?"

"Neither father or you have red eyes. Where did I get them?" Sharrah asks, resurrecting an old game his mother and him used to play. One in which he would ask a feature, and then he would guess his father based on her answer. Of course, now he knows. Yet there are still so many things Sharrah just wants to _know_.

"Well," his mother starts, still shaving along his head, "From your grandfather I suppose. He died before you were born, back when your father was just the heir to chief."

Sharrah mulls over that information for a long moment. He doesn't remember a time before his father was in charge, and hardly anyone speaks of the old chiefs. Sharrah never knew any of his grandparents. He supposes maybe he had just assumed they'd died of sickness, like much of their tribe does come winter. Already his people were tucking down for the cold, prepared to weather through as they always do.

"There. You look like a young man now," Nigee hums, tying the last of his hair back into a loose bun.

Sharrah turns towards the single reflective object in the tent, his mother's old steel shield. What gazes back at him is a boy with all their hair shaved but along the very top, pulled back to keep out of the way. Many of the adults in his tribe have the same cut, but it somehow looks wrong on Sharrah. Like he's trying too hard to grow up too fast.

Yet, without another heir, that's exactly what Sharrah must do, isn't it? He presses his hand against the sides of his head, feeling the smooth skin left behind after shaving. He will take over after his father passed, and Sharrah needs to be prepared. He needs to be a young man, not a child.

And that means letting his mother go.

Nigee of course already knows what her son is thinking of. She gently brushes away the hair that gathered on her son's shoulders, and presses one last kiss to his head.

"Go boy. You have training to do."

"Yes, Nigee."

She smiles softly as she watches her only child head out of her tent, content in knowing he'll grow up strong. At least, she hopes. They all hope.

* * *

At fifteen Sharrah and Rahhk still very much hate each other. They're reminded of their mutual disgust every single year at the claiming ceremony. Yet that was the most they would see of each other, once a year from across a wooded clearing. Not this year though. No, this year is the competition of strength. The exact event, every six years, in which every tribe shows off just how powerful their warriors are. It's supposed to be a way to keep war from breaking out, but really all it does is stoke the fires of petty rivalries.

Still, tradition demands all the healthy warriors of each clan participate. Yet the competition is in early spring, after the sickly season. Half of Sharrah's clan is forced to stay behind, either nursing the ill, or ill themselves.

Thus, Sharrah is left with much to prove. Youth he may still be, but he can join in the challenging, as long as he goes only against those in his own age group.

An age group of which Rahhk is in.

Sharrah plays with his newly grown in tusks, anticipating the day's events. The Broken-Axes put off their leaving as late as they could, and thus would arrive right as the competitions start instead of the night before. This meant less time to rest, but it also meant that Sharrah could stay behind for a few more hours and nurse his mother.

Nigee is once again pregnant, and sickness has claimed her. Sharrah does his best to stay the fever, but little other than time can fix such an illness. So when Sharrah's father comes to get him, he doesn't put up much protest.

"Just you wait, Nigee. I'll come home with a shiny new axe, and give it to that baby. It'll need it with you for a mother," Sharrah calls over his shoulder, even as he closes the tent flaps. He thinks he can hear his mother laughing, but a cough soon drowns the sound out.

Umong lightheartedly cuffs his son over the back of the head, letting out a chuckle. Sharrah grins at his father, even as he falls in line behind Umong for the walk. Fifteen warriors, ranging from the age of twelve to fifty three, all spared from the grasp of illness. It's a pitifully small number, but all of them hold their heads high as they make their way into the competition.

A few other Chiefs accost Umong once they make it to the quickly assembled camp that served as the location for the sport this year. Sharrah pauses behind his father, but his eyes scan the several orcs milling about. He spots several with the tattoo of the Broken-Skull clan, but Rahhk remains ellusive. He might not even had come. With how big his tribe is, there's no reason for him to.

Yet Sharrah hopes he did show up. He wants the fight that's sure to come, because this year Sharrah knows how he'll win.

A hand being clapped on his shoulder sends Sharrah's attention back to his father. Umong shows him off, bragging on the growth spurt his son recently went through. While not nearly as broad as most orcs, Sharrah's muscles seemed to finally catch up. That, mixed with his brand new tusks, leads him to look closer to a man than a boy.

"He takes after his father," Umong brags, patting his son's shoulder again, "Only thing he got from his mother is that green skin of his."

"And her attitude," Sharrah says, grinning at the chieftain in front of him. The orc gives a small smile, already knowing, like everyone else, how Sharrah's tongue always gets him beat up.

Soon though everyone gathers for the first round of challenges, fights not happening until the second day. Archers line up one by one for the chance to prove their abilities. Sharrah looks around for anyone else near his age, but finds no one with a bow ready.

"Well, son. I guess you'll have to go against the men," Umong says, a cheeky grin on his face.

Sharrah frowns and opens his mouth to object, but is interrupted by his father pushing him into line. No one says anything, instead they size up Sharrah like any other new competitor. Deciding to keep quiet about his age, Sharrah instead starts checking the draw in his bow and the fetching in his arrows, choosing the best one for the first round. Accuracy, then distance, then hitting a moving target.

Still not so sure about his chances of winning against older orcs, Sharrah forces himself to focus on his task at hand. His father believes he can do it, so Sharrah just has to prove him right now. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Figures you'd go for archery. You always too weak to do anything up close."

Whirling around, Sharrah comes face to face with Rahhk. They have both grown since the last claiming, where Sharrah grew upwards, Rahhk grew outwards. Now they were at equal height, but Rahhk still dwarfs Sharrah.

Rahhk wears a sneer on his face, looking Sharrah up and down like he just discovered something unpleasant. Sharrah feels much the same. The competition will start soon though, so Sharrah gives his best scoff and goes back to tightening his bow's string.

"And it figures you _didn't_ go for archery. It requires a certain amount of discipline that you lack," Sharrah shoots back, pulling the string back as far as he can. The resistance puts a small, delicious strain on Sharrah's muscles.

The look Rahhk gives him is downright murderous. Before Sharrah can say anything though, his look melts away into a self-confident grin.

"Alright. If you think you're so good, then fight me tomorrow. One on one, no weapons," he says, "Unless you think you can't take me."

Sharrah stiffens, acutely aware of the corner he's just been backed into. Rahhk just challenged him to a fight of honor, in front of everyone. Sharrah knows he can't take Rahhk in a fight, not for long, but he also knows there's no way of backing out now without putting shame on his clan. Shame that they can't take right now. Not with how few of them showed up.

"Well. What's your answer, Sharrah," Rahhk all but purrs.

Turning slightly, Sharrah makes eye contact with Rahhak, crimson against maroon.

"You're on."

When Sharrah's turn comes up to shoot, his blood is still boiling. Pretending the target is Rahhk's face, he takes careful aim. The arrow flies. Bullseye.

* * *

Umong helps Sharrah prepare the next morning. There's no use for a shirt when going into a fight of fists, but Sharrah chooses his tightest fitting pair of pants, carefully making sure there's nothing there to grab onto. His father braids his hair, tucking it tight and close to Sharrah's head. They already know it will be an unfair fight, so they try to eliminate any dirty tactics Rahhk could use.

"I don't know what I expected," Umong murmurs, "You two just can't keep from antagonizing each other, can you?"

"He approached me. I was content just to shoot."

"Right. And you just had to respond to his taunts? Draw him into challenging you?"

"He was going to already," Sharrah says, "I didn't see it yesterday, but now I do. He was going to challenge me from the beginning."

Sighing, Umong draws his son close for the briefest of moments. Sharrah smiles, knowing the underlying meanings in the embrace.

"I've taken a dozen beatings from him, Father. This time I at least get to fight back. I'm sure I can handle it." he puts a hand on Umong's shoulder. Huffing slightly, either in amusement or worry, Umong reaches up and pats his son's hand.

"Then you better put up one hell of a fight, you hear me?"

Sharrah nods, already intending on doing just that. Outside their tent, the sounds of a gathering crowd are already evident. They're expecting it to be brutal, and Sharrah doesn't want to disappoint.

Sharrah knows when Rahhk emerges from his cave from the roaring cheer. It's time. So taking a deep breath, Sharrah goes outside.

People part for Sharrah as he walks to the arena. They've never done that for him before. Yet from the looks he knows it's not from admiration. No. Half the orcs gathered around look like they expect it to be Sharrah's funeral.

Sharrah stops at his end of the arena, staring across the circle to Rahhk. He also dressed in just pants, but he seems more disturbed by Sharrah's lack of shirt than Sharrah is about his. Even from here he can see Rahhk's gaze go down to his chest over and over again, looking like he just swallowed a slug.

The referee stepping between them stops Sharrah from thinking too hard on Rahhk's reaction. He lays out the rules, no killing, no ripping off limbs, no leaving the arena, and the fight will end after five minutes. Both Sharrah and Rahhk agree to the terms, and both step into the circle.

Rahhk charges Sharrah as soon as the referee is off the circle, signaling the start of the fight. Sharrah jumps out of the way, knowing he'll have no chance once Rahhk gets proper hold of him. Speed is his only ally right now.

Rahhk approaches, slower now, trying to back Sharrah against the outer edge of the circle. Sharrah takes the chance to go in for a hit instead. He manages a quick kick before being forced to hit the ground to avoid the fist heading for his face. Scrambling to recover, Sharrah manages to get up and protect himself with his arms right before the blow makes connection with his head.

Sharrah is struck with the realization that Rahhk is trying to stun him first, not get a hold of him. Trying to get him on the ground instead of just wailing on him until time was called. Rahhk is using a humiliation tactic, not the most likely strategy.

So Sharrah takes Rahhk's next blow once again with his arm, then twists around to grab hold of Rahhk's wrist. Quick as he can, Sharrah simultaneously twists Rahhk's hand the wrong way while also kicking below the belt. Rahhk takes the bait, going for his arm in an attempt to save his only weapons instead of looking down.

He makes a rather impressive noise of pain when Sharrah's foot connects with his jewels. He doesn't go down though, instead taking the chance to slam an elbow into Sharrah's chest. Sharrah wheezes as all the air is knocked out of him, before forcing himself to dance backwards and out of the way.

The two of them both take the barest of moments to recover before once again violently clashing. Rahhk's knuckles split first, and Sharrah lip is the first one to bust. Punches and kicks, neither quite making the proper move to end it all.

At least, not until a particularly hard hit sends Sharrah sprawling across the arena. He tries to rush to his feet, but Rahhk is already charging. He won't get out of the way in time. Doing his best to shield his head, Sharrah prepares for the blow.

"Time!"

Sharrah can hear as Rahhk skids to a stop in the dirt, not willing to lose the entire match just for hitting Sharrah after time is called. Daring to look up, Sharrah finds Rahhk leering over him. Panting, they both stare each other down, the hatred in the air palatable.

Then the silence is broken by cheering from the crowd. Just like that, the spell is broken. Neither had yielded, and neither obtained significantly more damage than the other. A tie.

Exhilaration rushes through Sharrah's veins, nearly drowning out the pain he's in as he stands. Sending a flippant grin Rahhk's way, Sharrah turns back to his clan. Not quite victorious, but damn well proud. No one expected him to last that long, not even Sharrah himself.

Umong claps his son on the back before swinging an arm around Sharrah's shoulders. Sharrah doesn't understand why until the pain comes back once again a few minutes later, nearly knocking him off his feet. That doesn't dampen Sharrah's mood though, not with how excited the rest of his clan is. The high carries him all the way home that evening, with just a bit of help from his father.

Until they get back to a near silent camp, everyone but the barest of guards sequestered away in their camps. Umong parts from his son for the first time that day, rushing to find out who what happened. Sharrah tries to follow, but one of the guards catch him by the arm, shaking her head. It takes Sharrah only a moment to realize what she means.

Sharrah never gets to meet his younger sibling, and the camp gets one tent smaller after that night.

* * *

Sharrah finishes up packing what few supplies he's allowed to take with him to his Right. The cold of winter lets up in the day, but this early it's claws are still sunk in the air. No one will watch him leave. No one will wait for him to return, though he will be back by the end of summer. At least, that's what Sharrah tells himself, too determined to let himself die alone in the woods.

Especially without any new heirs to take his place if he fails to survive. Sharrah isn't the first orc to complete their Right though, and he defiantly won't be the last. Not when it's the only way to be accepted as a warrior, and the only way most children decide to become adults.

Umong is pretending to be asleep, but Sharrah knows he's not. He won't break tradition, but if Sharrah is a little louder than necessary when leaving the tent, well it's not his fault that his father knows he left.

Sharrah is supposed to head straight out of their territory. Expected to enter the wilds immediately. But Sharrah adjusts his path just a little, just a smidgen further south than necessary. When he comes across the first smaller tree in a grove he knows he reached the right place.

Stones sit intertwined with the roots of the trees. Most can still be read, especially along the edge, but further in they disappear into the wood, their stories leaving the visible world. Thankfully, Sharrah is looking for one along the outer edge. A large carved out stone, with a few small words chissled into it. An ironwood sits at the head, barely sprouting.

"Hey, Nigee," he says, sitting down in front of the sapling, "I know you wanted to see me the night before my Right. I couldn't get here yesterday, so don't tell Father I saw you today."

The grave doesn't respond, but Sharrah still imagines what retort his mother would have to something like that. Probably half of a lecture and a snort, knowing her. The silence is almost suffocating.

"I'll come back by on my way home. You'll be the first one to know I'm back," he says, rising to his feet. A breeze blows through the grove, rustling the leaves of the ironwood.

Sharrah lets himself think it's his mother wishing him luck.

* * *

Three months. Three months of a boiling summer, and Sharrah's eighteenth birthday finally arrives. He barely notices as he goes through his new morning routine, a necessity in the wild. It's not until he goes to carve another mark in a piece of bark he found the first day that he notices. Quickly counting all the tallies, excitement soon overcomes Sharrah.

He's officially a man, a warrior, and the second in command to his father. A chieftain's son through and through. Sharrah rushes to collapse the small camp he's called home for the last several weeks, barely pausing to eat. His tribe will need him come autumn, so he has to hurry home.

Sharrah pushes himself harder than he did when heading out. Within just a few days he's already nearing orc territory again. Not his tribe's, of course, but still familiar ground. If he's careful about it, Sharrah can walk on through without getting in much trouble. A lone wanderer is a common sight any time of year, countless doing their Right. As long as he doesn't seek out his enemies, others will let him pass. It's tradition after all.

At least that's what Sharrah thinks before an arrow embeds itself into the tree in front of him, achingly close to where he was about to step. Instinct and alarm has Sharrah pulling his own bow out and pointing it in the direction the arrow came from. For a long moment the woods remain still.

Then a group of people push through the trees, Rahhk leading them. He has a cocky grin on his face, sword out. One of the people behind Rahhk trains their newly drawn arrow at the same time Sharrah levels his at Rahhk's face.

"Well isn't this a surprise. Didn't expect you here, Sharrah."

"This isn't your territory," Sharrah keeps his bow aimed at Rahhk's face, "So what are Shattered-Skull younglings doing here?"

A muscle in Rahhk's jaw twitches a bit, the only evidence of his displeasure, "Warriors now, actually. We all finished our Right, and then our tribe decided a little expansion was in order."

Sharrah feels like ice was dumped over his head. The clan that owns this territory was relatively small, and if the Shattered-Skulls invaded....

"Let me leave, Rahhk. I'm finishing my Right. Do you want to be found guilty of interfering with tradition?"

"To hell with _tradition_," Rahhk spits, "I want something from you. You're going to give it over."

Before Sharrah can loose his arrow at Rahhk, something grabs him from behind. Sharrah lets out a started yell as he's yank backwards. He never heard anyone go through the underbrush for a sneak attack.

Dropping his bow, Sharrah tries to go for his dagger, only for agony to stab through his arm. Despite himself, Sharrah howls. A knife is buried in his upper arm.

Sharrah can hear Rahhk laugh through the roaring in his ears. Doing his best to snarl, Sharrah continues to try and fight free. His other hand finds the dagger, but more hands start appearing to grab a hold of him. Sharrah only manages to cut up a few arms before he's wrestled to his knees.

Someone jerks Sharrah's head up by his hair, forcing him to look up as Rahhk approaches. Sharrah sneers, putting up a strong front despite the pain he's in. Rahhk grins and crouches down in front of Sharrah, one hand flitting up to grab his chin.

"Still so much fight in you, even after all these years. I thought you'd learn your place by now," Rahhk hums, his thumb moving a bit to rub along Sharrah's cheek.

"My place? I'm the same rank as you."

There's no warning for the blow, but Sharrah bites his own cheek from the force of it. Iron coats his tongue. The hand holding his hair let go, allowing Sharrah's head to turn for a moment before Rahhk catches hold of it again.

"Your place is beneath me. Mine. Everyone else would understand their lessons. Why do you have to be so _difficult_," Rahhk clicks his tongue. His eyes roam down Sharrah's face, surveying the damage he caused, then falling farther down. Sharrah's skin prickles uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

"What the hell is it you want," Sharrah asks, doing his best to jerk free despite the fire in his arm.

Rahhk pats his cheek hard at the defiance, if it's an encouragement or a warning to stop, Sharrah doesn't know. His other hand find's it's way onto Sharrah's shoulder, just a few inches above the knife still sticking out of Sharrah's muscle.

"I want you. I thought it was obvious."

Then Rahhk tilts forward, and he kisses Sharrah.

Their tusks clack against each other uncomfortably, and Sharrah does his damnedest to pull away even as Rahhk keeps him in place with the hand on his face. The kiss is bruising, more a feverish claiming than the soft moments that Sharrah's parents had made it. Sharrah's stomach twists from the sheer wrongness of it, and he refuses to open his mouth when a tongue runs along his lower lip.

Sharrah's vision goes white as Rahhk grabs a hold of the knife and drives it in deeper. Metal against bone reverberates through Sharrah's body, each grind of the knife into his arm another wave of whiteness. Sharrah isn't sure what noise he makes from the pain, but Rahhk takes it as an opportunity to invade Sharrah's mouth, taking whatever he wants.

Finally Rahhk pulls away, panting. Sharrah musters the best glare he can through his own agony. Rahhk laughs, before rising from his crouch and signaling to his men. 

"Tie his arms. When we get to camp, chain him to my bed. It seems Sharrah needs a lesson of a _different_ kind later tonight," he says, wiping what blood got on his hand off on his shirt.

"Damn you," Sharrah gasps, fighting once again as rough hands try to force his arms together to wrap rope around them.

"And send a message to the Broken-Axes," Rahhk continues, heedless of Sharrah, "Tell them to surrender if they ever want to see their precious little heir, alive, again. If not...."

Rahhk bares his teeth in an expression that can only be described as savage, "We'll go to war."


	2. Chapter 2

Ropes dig deep into Sharrah's skin. He's not sure how long it's been since they dragged him into camp, but very little has changed since he's been tied down. Sharrah can only be grateful that they didn't take Rahhk's request to tie him to the bed seriously. Instead he kneels in the center of the tent, ankles tied together and arms behind his back.

Every attempt to test the strength of the rope leads to a new wave of fire going down Sharrah's arm. They never bothered to remove the knife, and it makes much movement nearly impossible. Bleeding, thankfully, has stopped though so now dried blood is the only thing coating Sharrah's arm. He worries about infection though. He needs to be able to clean it, and soon.

Yet soon doesn't seem to be happening. If he strains his ears Sharrah can hear the normal hustle and bustle of any other camp, but no one approaches the tent. Seem's Rahhk's declared it off limits. Sharrah can't help comparing it to his own clan, where everyone frequents through each other's homes. They're all family anyways, so why would it matter if one of your own tribesman was inside?

The comparison sends Sharrah's thoughts back to his father, a subject of which Sharrah has been avidly trying to avoid thinking about. They all knew around when Sharrah would be back, and if he was late Umong would naturally assume the worst. If a message arrived in his place though, speaking of Sharrah's capture.... Sharrah isn't sure how his tribe will react. He can only hope they don't surrender, that they keep fighting.

Hope will only get someone so far though, and Sharrah has to accept the reality of the situation. If he doesn't get free, doesn't prevent war from being declared, his clan will be slaughtered.

It's only appropriate that with such a chilling thought Sharrah finally hears someone approaching the flap up front. Shoving aside the ice in his veins, Sharrah conjures up what fire he can in his face. Rahhk walks in, only to be greeted with the best glare Sharrah can muster.

The larger orc pauses for a moment before doing what Sharrah can only assume is his evening routine. It's surprisingly mundane. In the back of his mind Sharrah had always known that Rahhk is just another person, but he could never imagine him doing something so simple as washing up after a long day. Couldn't ever produce an image in his mind that showed Rahhk doing anything other than inflicting pain.

"You look good like that," Rahhk says, barely looking up from taking his armor off, "Kneeling before me."

"I can't say the same about looking at you from down here. Somehow it makes your face look worse."

Sharrah expects instant retaliation. He doesn't expect Rahhk to ignore his retort completely. Sharrah watches tensely as Rahhk finishes cleaning up, seeming like he's getting ready for bed. It's not until he's done does Rahhk look at him again. His eyes roam down Sharrah's form, possessive in a way that makes Sharrah's skin prickle underneath it.

"You're mine, Sharrah. I can do whatever I want to you. I suggest you keep that sharp attitude to yourself," He says, still drinking in the sight of Sharrah helpless before him.

Naturally Sharrah responds, "You know damn well I'm not yours. You can barely keep a hound with you, never mind a person."

This time Rahhk's reaction is faster. He comes over to stand next to Sharrah, bending just enough to grab onto his hair with one hand. Sharrah tries to jerk away, not realizing what Rahhk is doing until he rips out the knife with his other hand.

Some half strangled sound of pain escapes Sharrah's lips, before Rahhk shoves Sharrah backwards. Unable to catch himself, Sharrah falls to the floor.

"I was going to be gentler about this, but you seem to like making things difficult," Rahhk growls, before stalking away. Unable to track him from his new position, Sharrah tenses up and waits for what Rahhk is planning.

The answer is different than what Sharrah expected. Rahhk returns multiple times, each time laying something different next to Sharrah before going to fetch something else. A bowl, a rag, a simple box. It's not until Rahhk pops open a acrid smelling bottle does Sharrah realize it's all medical supplies.

Blood oozes out of the freshly reopened wound in Sharrah's arm, and Rahhk's none to gentle wiping down of the area around it does nothing to help with that matter. Flecks of dried blood fall to the floor under Sharrah, quickly chased by the fresh. Rahhk holds on tight to Sharrah's bicep, as if expecting him to try and fight it.

In truth, for the first time, Sharrah is stunned into silence. He didn't expect any medical attention what so ever while he was captured. Even if it isn't gentle, it's still better than he thought would happen. Suspicion building deep in his gut, Sharrah waits until Rahhk's cleaning the wound with a tonic before he speaks again.

"Why?"

The question falls between the air between them for a long moment, Rahhk still working. Sharrah is tense though, still caught off guard and having no idea how to recover from it.

"I already told you. You're mine. I won't let you die. I won't let you get away from me," Rahhk says, so matter-of-factly that it douses Sharrah in another layer of ice. All the fire of his anger is gone, just cold dread and building understanding.

They remain in silence as Rahhk stitches him up. Sharrah wants to look away from him, but he also doesn't trust him being so close. So instead Sharrah watches his hands work. Watches and plans. Within a few days he'll be strong enough to be able to handle a sword again, and even before that he'll be mobile enough again to pull free from his binds as long as his stitches hold. It's a better situation than Sharrah thought it would be, at least.

Eventually Rahhk finishes. He leaves Sharrah on the ground as he puts everything back where he got it. Sharrah listens to the muffled noises of him moving around the tent, apprehensive. He could try and sit back up, but with all his limbs tied the effort would be more humiliating than just staying down.

Rahhk returns soon though. He grabs onto Sharrah's uninjured arm, hauling him up with his not inconsiderable strength. Sharrah does squirm then, not liking being half dragged through the tent. It doesn't phase Rahhk. He'd became stronger between the last time Sharrah and him clashed. Sharrah tries to stuff down his building alarm.

That task becomes harder though when he's shoved into the bed. Rahhk smiles at him, seemingly liking how Sharrah instinctively tugs against his bonds. Leaning down, Rahhk looms over Sharrah, hand pressing down on Sharrah's chest to keep him from moving too much.

"I've been patient tonight," Rahhk starts, eyes once again possessively taking in Sharrah.

"I've been very patient, because I've been wanting this for years now. If you don't cooperate, I'm taking what I want. You have one chance to accept it." The hand on Sharrah's chest starts trailing down. Sharrah tries to jerk, but Rahhk moves his other hand from the mattress to Sharrah's hip, keeping him in place.

Rahhk's fingers hover dangerously far south, "Will you spread for me when I untie you, Sharrah?"

Sharrah's answer is to slam his head forward as hard as he can. The headbutt sends reverberations through Sharrah's jaw, but it makes Rahhk jerk back with a grunt. Despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins, telling him to run fast and run far, Sharrah instead snarls at Rahhk.

Putting a hand up to brush at his now split lip, Rahhk looks between the blood on his knuckles and Sharrah for a long moment.

"Taking it is then."

* * *

Sharrah isn't sure how long it is before the camp starts packing up, moving to a new location for the winter, but he does know it's his chance. The clan is too big to afford letting an almost perfectly healthy prisoner use up wagon space, so Sharrah will have to be allowed to walk. His stitches are almost healed, and Rahhk still hasn't bothered switching his bonds to chains. For once Sharrah is thanking how Rahhk underestimates him.

What he isn't thankful for however are the fingers grasping along his sides. They ghost over bruises, both new and old, tracing them vaguely. Rahhk's tent will be dismantled soon, and Sharrah can only hope he'll stop once exposed to the rest of his tribe.

For now though he has to tolerate the touches. The way Rahhk curls around him, how his tusks brush down the side of his neck. Sharrah's figured out he best way to deal with them is to ignore it. Rahhk's after a reaction, not just contact.

He does however jolt to the side a bit when Rahhk grasps at less appropriate parts.

"No. Do you really want them to dismantle your tent only for them to find you with your pants down?" Sharrah asks, shoving all the bite he has left into his voice.

Rahhk hums softly, still mouthing along Sharrah's neck, "It'd be a good way to prove who you belong to. But no. I don't need to claim you like that yet."

The 'yet' nearly sends shivers down Sharrah's back, but he tapers down the reaction lest Rahhk think it's something else. Finally he starts retreating from behind Sharrah, going to pack what few things are still left out. Sharrah takes the moment to collect himself. Every deeper breath though leads to pain, one of his ribs broken from a few days ago. Seems Rahhk didn't like being kicked in the nuts.

Eventually Sharrah finds Rahhk next to him again. The bigger orc checks his bonds, tugging the ones in his arms to see just how tight they are. Sharrah purposely lets loose a hiss though, still feigning discomfort from the stab wound in his arm. His reaction seems to satisfy Rahhk, so Sharrah watches as he goes to his feet and carefully unties them.

Sharrah's heart almost leaps into his throat but he forces himself to remain calm. Any reaction would tip Rahhk off. He already sits watching, observing every single expression on Sharrah's face. He seems to get the answer that he wants after a few minutes.

"You've been so good, outside of bed of course. Don't disappoint me now," Rahhk says, reaching up to brush along Sharrah's cheek. Sharrah forces himself to not jerk away, even as Rahhk chases his hand up to Sharrah's face to claim his lips.

After several long minutes of forcing himself to be still, Rahhk finally pulls away. He tugs Sharrah up and to his feet.

"Come on. We have a long ways to go."

And they do. The first day's walk is achingly slow, a tribe this large being practically incapable of moving anything close to quickly. Just by counting his own steps Sharrah guesses they've barely gone a few miles between maneuvering the wagons and making sure the less capable are still walking with the rest.

Frustratingly, Rahhk doesn't leave Sharrah's side the first day. Or the second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. He seems to expect some resistance from Sharrah. Like he'd be stupid enough to try anything with everyone around, watching him.

Some orcs give Sharrah looks of pity, but most of them glare. Seems the Shattered-Skulls still hold a grudge over Sharrah's clan's continued survival. Like it's a personal affront on them just for such a small clan to exist. Though the younger ones don't hold any anger in their hearts for Sharrah. Instead they flock to him, wanting stories and entertainment.

Originally Rahhk tried to shoo away the children, but eventually even he gave up. So Sharrah spoke, all day long, night after night. He got used to seeing kids flitting around where he is, listening for any new cool story. Sometimes he even manages to connive his way into playing with the children, an activity that grants him a few blessed minutes completely untied.

It's from those moments that Sharrah gets his chance.

Tucking one of the smaller kids into his lap, mindful of his still healing rib, he launches into another tale without thinking much on it. It's an ancient story, more myth than truth, but it keeps the little ones entertained. Rahhk, as always, is hovering somewhere nearby. He takes the time Sharrah spends with the children to attend to his duties as an heir.

And it's those exact same duties that pull him away from Sharrah when an ox careens off into a river, an entire cart of supplies with it. Sharrah pauses only long enough to watch Rahhk go before meandering back into his tale. The children don't mind or notice as most adults, especially the ones originally from the Shattered-Skulls, filter away to help retrieve much needed food from the water.

Sharrah smiles, "Who wants to play a game?"

Instantly there's cheers of excitement. It doesn't take long to get the children to get riled into an intense game of tag, and it takes even less time for Sharrah to slip a sword from a nearby wagon. Quickly and quietly, he slips away into the nearby forest.

Running is hard after so many days of walking. Still, Sharrah pushes himself to not stop. Distance is what he needs right now, not comfort. As soon as he's confident that the Shattered-Skulls, that Rahhk, are behind him he'll let himself rest.

Sharrah isn't sure how many minutes passed when he hears a hound barking behind him, but his heart leaps into his throat at the sound. Seems they noticed he was gone faster than he had hoped they would. A bitter feeling wells up in Sharrah's chest as he realizes that Rahhk has no shortage of items that smell like him.

Sharrah hears running water. Crossing a river will scatter his scent. Hope and desperation driving him, Sharrah rushes towards the noise.

Only to fall short as he comes to the bank, water rushing by fast. Too fast. It would sweep him away in an instant. He's cornered.

Cursing his luck, Sharrah tightens his grip on the sword he stole. His only hope is to find a crossing, and fast. The dogs are closer now. Closing in.

Going East leads to nothing but a switchback. A precious spot where the river is just a fraction smaller, where he could maybe jump from one bank to another. But he also turns around to find the snarling muzzle of a dog emerge from the tree line.

And Rahhk close behind. He's beyond pissed, and he holds his own sword before him. He looks Sharrah up and down, and seems to make the same connection that Sharrah did about the river being narrower here.

"Sharrah. I'll give you one chance. Come back to me without a fight any you won't be punished," Rahhk says, raising his hand in preparation to signal the dog forward.

Sharrah's response is to position his own sword between himself and them, and snarling. Rahhk takes that at face value and sends the hound after Sharrah.

The dog is killed in mere seconds, but it's enough time for Rahhk to reach Sharrah. Their swords meet with a ringing clash of steel. Sharrah ducks, preparing for a slash at Rahhk's legs, but already finds a blade there to parry his blow away. Rahhk expects these strategies from Sharrah now. He expects him to fight like the smaller opponent, which he nearly always is.

So for once, Sharrah acts big. He rams forward, sending all his weight into his blows. Not one makes contact with anything but Rahhk's blade, but it does send the larger orc staggering back. Sharrah takes those precious few inches to put some space between himself and Rahhk, shifting his sword to keep it that way.

Rahhk looks Sharrah up and down, seemingly both appreciative and still very much angry. He's smart enough to keep his sword in a defensive position when pausing though. He refuses to give Sharrah a single opening.

"You would make such a good little consort Sharrah, if you just behaved," he murmurs. Sharrah's response is to charge again, iron flashing as they once again meet in violence.

Rahhk leans towards where their blades sit crossed, "As much as I'd love to spar you all night, you have a punishment waiting for you back at camp."

Sharrah doesn't realize what Rahhk is talking about until a black form rushes out of the woods, teeth headed straight for his leg. A second hound, this one held back at Rahhk's command. Sharrah is forced to disengage in an attempt to save his calf from the dog's canines.

That move leaves Sharrah vulnerable though, and within moments a sword pommel slams down on the back of his head. Sharrah crumples beneath the blow, the world going black.

* * *

Sharrah comes to slowly. He knows he's upright, but the throbbing in his head leaves him dizzy. Disoriented in the worst way, even before he has opened his eyes.

Feeling comes back haltingly. Focusing, Sharrah forces himself to clench and unclench his fists several times until he can once again register his arms. His legs remain numb, but that feels more like lack of blood flow than anything else. So steeling himself, Sharrah opens his eyes.

The world tilts slightly, and the light blurs, but it's better than being blind. Sharrah finds himself slumped forward onto a rough post, wrists bound slightly above his head, on the other side. A whipping pole.

Alarm has Sharrah trying to move, but just tilting his head leads to waves of nausea. He can feel where he got hit on the back of his head, and Sharrah is sure that if he could touch it that he'd find one hell of a goose egg. Sharrah knows he's in front of half the camp even without seeing them. He can hear the whispers. So rather than humiliating himself by needlessly struggling, he instead braces himself and forces his gaze up, defiant.

Once the nausea dies and his vision clears, Sharrah finds Rahhk before him. He looks grim, angry, all the heir that he is. Still, the way he sits in front of Sharrah is casual, observing. He bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile when he sees Sharrah's eyes fall onto him.

"You're finally awake. You kept us waiting. Everyone wants to know what punishment you'll be choosing for yourself."

Forcing someone to choose is humiliating, and Sharrah knows just from the smugness in Rahhk's face that his intention was exactly that. Squaring his shoulders best he can, Sharrah meets Rahhk stare for stare.

"I am no coward hoping for mercy. I'm an heir, and I won't ever stoop so low. Only a fool would expect me to," Sharrah says, sounding much more clear headed than he feels.

Something flashes in Rahhk's eyes at his response, but the sickly sweet smile that slips into place masks it before Sharrah can identify it. He raises his hand to someone behind Sharrah. Taking this as his only warning, Sharrah braces himself for pain.

"If you're so sure then, Sharrah, I'll decide," he then addresses the person behind Sharrah, "Whip him until he screams."

The entire camp is hushed now, anticipation stealing any words. Wind whistles quietly, unnaturally. Then fire flares up his back.

Sharrah clenches his jaw tight, refusing to look away from Rahhk even as something tugs at the newly raised flesh. Sharrah had been struck with something like this once before, by accident of course but he still remembers the feeling. A barbed whip, normally used on especially unruly animals, now repurposed for an especially unruly prisoner.

When the barbs tug free Sharrah's only warning for the next strike is the whistling as the whip once again cracks through the air. And it repeats over and over again. Blood streams down Sharrah's back. At some point he had tilted his head down, now facing the ground instead of Rahhk. Sharrah barely dares to breathe. Fights the pain best he can. A real orc doesn't scream, after all.

Yet even the most war hardened man would break eventually. And break Sharrah does. He doesn't even realize when he finally breaks his own silence, he just knows that it's too much. His flesh feels raw, even the bare air leaving pain in it's wake.

He does however know when the blows have finally stopped. Breathing ragged, Sharrah loosens all tension in his frame and falls fully forward into the pole. Heat consumes his back. His ears are ringing.

A hand grabs onto his chin, tilting Sharrah's head up. Rahhk says something to him, stroking his cheek, but Sharrah can't hear it. When he doesn't respond Rahhk frowns, but it only takes him a moment to realize that Sharrah isn't even processing the words. Rahhk lets Sharrah's head drop again, reaching up to untie his prisoner.

Black starts creeping in around the edges of Sharrah's vision. He doesn't fight it as oblivion pulls him under.

* * *

Three weeks later and Sharrah can still barely move without pain. Chains hold his wrists together, with barely two feet in give, as if he could escape as hurt as he is. The first few days after the whipping he rode in a wagon, barely conscious through most of it. One of the more sympathetic orcs took care of him, a heavily pregnant mother of two already. Half delirious from pain, Sharrah almost thought Nigee was the one cleaning the wounds on his back.

Of course now that he's fully healing he knows Nigee is dead and gone. Still, he remains thankful for Uloth. She continues to let him take up space in her wagon, despite the fact that he could risk walking now. Sharrah thankfully takes the break from both the pain and from Rahhk.

Uloth's oldest child, five, crawls into Sharrah's lap. He takes care to not jostle Sharrah, scared after the way his mother chewed him out the first time he did this. Sharrah happily wraps his arms around the boy though. He was one of the children that would come to him before his escape attempt. Most of the others aren't allowed near him now, but Rahhk can't do anything about Uloth's kids.

Thinking of Rahhk has Sharrah glancing out of the wagon, anticipating when they'll stop. Sharrah doesn't remember much about the first few days after his punishment, but he does know Rahhk isn't bothering with being gentle. If Sharrah doesn't give him what he wants, taking by force is still very much Rahhk's go to.

It's humiliating, having to watch for him like a startled deer, but Uloth doesn't judge. Not after he came stumbling back to her with all her carefully done stitching undone. She's currently Sharrah's only ally, and he clings to that tightly. It's the only hope Sharrah has now.

Sharrah draws his attention away from outside when the boy in his lap makes an impatient noise. Huffing a soft laugh, Sharrah ruffles his hair, then delves into a story. Uloth is thankful for him giving her these breaks.

For several hours Sharrah busies himself by entertaining children. The task doesn't bother him much, and it's better than being trapped at Rahhk's side. Besides, children are something Rahhk isn't, which is cute.

It has to end soon however. Rahhk comes for Sharrah when they stop for the night. As soon as Sharrah exits the cart he tugs the smaller orc into a kiss, heedless of whoever may be watching. The whole tribe now knows Sharrah belongs to Rahhk. No one goes to help Sharrah. He doesn't expect them to.

Sharrah doesn't speak when he's tugged to Rahhk's tent, too tired for any retorts. The only noise he makes is when Rahhk pushes him down onto a bedroll, heedless of Sharrah's back. When he leans down to take Sharrah's mouth, Sharrah doesn't fight back. It's not worth it anymore.

But when Rahhk palms at Sharrah's pants, a chained hand grabs onto his wrist. The one thing Sharrah still won't willingly give. Rahhk snarls lightly into the kiss, but he's easily placated by Sharrah tipping up and reconnecting their lips himself. If Sharrah also pulls Rahhk's hand up to stroke along his chest, well, Rahhk doesn't say anything.

"I'm still too injured," Sharrah whispers softly when their kiss breaks, "It'll reopen my back again. It won't heal at this rate."

Rahhk just hums, trailing his mouth down to Sharrah's neck. That's another humiliation he has to endure, the hickeys Rahhk leaves behind. Some of the other orcs jeer at him for it, calling him a whore. Saying he liked the whipping. Rahhk does nothing to dissuade them.

Rahhk eventually pulls away, taking in Sharrah beneath him. His hand finds Sharrah's hair, both stroking and pulling at the same time. Possessive.

"I love you," Rahhk says, tugging lightly in encouragement.

Unable to look Rahhk in the face, Sharrah tugs Rahhk back close to him. Hiding his face slightly in Rahhk's shoulder, he ignores Rahhk's hum of satisfaction.

"I love you too."

It was a lie. Obviously a lie. But it placated Rahhk. That's all Sharrah needs now. Time to heal. And being allowed to heal all depends on Rahhk being pleased with him.

Sharrah hates it, but that's his daily routine for weeks. Even when they reach their destination and the tribe splits into many separate tents Sharrah still seeks out Uloth. Takes care of her kids. At least, until he comes in one day to find Uloth holding her stomach.

Over the years Sharrah ended up helping several mothers have their babies, but he never expected to be the only one beside the kids. It's a cultural difference Sharrah isn't quite comfortable with, but he still stubbornly refused to leave when Uloth tried to shoo him away. So he sits on the floor before Uloth, instructing the five year old on how to comfort his mother, all the while watching for when the baby starts crowning.

After several long hours of listening to pained noises, and sending small children in and out to fetch things, the whole thing is interrupted by a singular, high pitched scream.

Sharrah carefully wipes the baby down while Uloth takes a moment to compose herself. She continues screaming, very much unhappy with the cool air. Sharrah does his best to calm her as he wraps her up.

Of course that's when Rahhk comes in, looking for Sharrah. He finds Sharrah kneeling on the floor, blood all over his hands, and a very upset newborn in his arms. Rahhk freezes, and Sharrah takes that opportunity to pass the child off to her mother.

Pointedly not looking at Rahhk, Sharrah washes himself off next. Uloth hushes the baby with some milk, leading to silence. Sharrah's stalled enough. Rahhk won't wait much longer.

Still, Sharrah risks a glance back at Uloth as he leaves. He doesn't want to say it out loud, but he knows that the baby wouldn't have came if she'd remained stubbornly alone. Uloth knows too, he can see it in her gaze. They make eye contact for the briefest of moments before the tent flap falls between them.

Sharrah doesn't know how to place her expression.

* * *

The troops are preparing for war. Sharrah can tell just by the way they move. Rahhk spends less time at their tent, which Sharrah is thankful for. He doesn't know how much more of his so called affection he can handle.

The one upside to the attention Rahhk gave Sharrah was that Sharrah eventually earned his right to be untied back. While the shackles remain, the chain that connected them is blessidly gone. It's not freedom, but it is enough of an illusion of it to pretend. That's all Sharrah has now.

Deftly avoiding the soldiers, Sharrah makes his way to Uloth's tent. It moved to the edge of the camp, something about shaming her. Apparently she refuses to tell the chief who her baby girl's father is, making claiming complicated. They're trying to force her into admitting it by isolating her. Thankfully, Sharrah doesn't count as company. He is a prisoner after all.

Uloth doesn't look up at him when he enters her tent. The children sit quiet, fidgeting softly in their spots. The two old enough to walk are dressed in all traveling leathers, and the now several month old baby is carefully swaddled in a sling. Confused, Sharrah goes to stand next to Uloth. She's carefully wrapping food, as if for a long journey.

"Sharrah."

"Yes?"

"I owe you much."

"You don't owe me any-"

Uloth interrupts him with a glare so eerily similar to the one Sharrah's own mother gave him that he shuts up in an instant. Only when she's satisfied that he won't speak does she start speaking again.

"I owe you much, but I'm afraid I must put myself deeper in debt to you."

Sharrah is beyond confused, but he doesn't say anything. He gets his answer soon though when Uloth shoves the food into a travel pack and passes it onto Sharrah. A knife sits sheathed in one side pocket, and a bow with a quiver is slung around the whole thing. Hesitantly, he takes it.

"Take my children and leave here."

Sharrah is struck silent. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. The five year old starts crying behind him.

"What?"

"Take them. It's not safe anymore. No one will claim them. Take them. Go to your tribe," She orders, pushing the pack closer to him. Her kids break the line they formed, the older two going to clutch at her. Sharrah turns away from them, not wanting to watch such a private moment.

Something else builds inside his chest though. Dread. If Rahhk discovers he's gone and that Uloth helped him....

Except that's her plan though, isn't it. A sacrifice for her children. Sharrah remembers the story his mother used to tell him about mothers that gave everything for their children. Uloth isn't any different. So, putting the pack on, Sharrah takes a deep breath.

"I will."

He'll help save these children, and he'll get home. Even if it kills him.


End file.
